


The Hero's Hero

by A_MX



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Disaster Gay Nico di Angelo, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Good Luke Castellan, Human Disaster Nico di Angelo, M/M, Nightmares, Older Nico di Angelo, joking about zombies, just casually rewriting canon the way it should be, seriously rick what were you thinking, so much gay, taking a good look at canon before throwing it in the trash, what am i supposed to tag? the fuck if i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_MX/pseuds/A_MX
Summary: What if Luke hadn't been reborn? What if chance had brought him and Nico closer? A little peek at what could have been if things had gone different.
Relationships: Luke Castellan/Nico di Angelo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	The Hero's Hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkedVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkedVoid/gifts).



> Business as usual, content warnings at the start of the fic! To be more precise, this fic contains **canon-typical violence, character death, brief mentions of food and weight loss, brief mentions of insomnia and slight descriptions of panic attacks**. Also very liberal use of the f-bomb.
> 
> I'm fairly certain that Luke is a good bit OOC. It's been a while since I read the books, and getting his very own blend of charisma, loyalty, spite and ambition right is surprisingly hard. I tried my best, and even so, I'm fairly satisfied with the result.
> 
> Merry Holigays!

Luke Castellan is dead. I can feel it. Luke Castellan is dead, and Kronos with him. Maybe it’s a Hades kid sorta thing, but I don’t bother looking around to see if my father has felt it, too. I’m kind of busy, with monsters all around us. Kronos may be dead, but they don’t know it yet, and either way, they would try to rip us all to shreds.

I push these thoughts aside for the time being. An _empousa_ swings her claws at me and I bring my sword down. I barely have time to watch her physical form dissolve when the next beast hacks away at me. My sword is glowing, and every time it sucks up the essence of another monster, the glow gets stronger and the air around the blade colder.

Stygian Iron. Whether you need monsters killed or some home-grown creepy illumination for your bathroom, that’s the stuff you want. It’s almost a shame I’m one of maybe half a dozen mortals and gods who can use it. Almost.

Further ahead I can see a camper struggling with some sort of ghost. I don’t know what exactly it is, but I jump over a few dead bodies of questionable origin and strike at it. The tip of my blade has barely touched the spectre as it gets sucked into the metal.

The kid doesn’t bother me, just glances at my appearance and whose insignia my armour shows and shies away. What else would you expect? The Olympians and their children may rely on Hades’ help, but they don’t welcome us. Even in battle, we’re more foe than friend, readily employed but rarely appreciated or met with gratitude.

How cynical, I think, as I duck under an approaching arrow and charge through the debris at the archer it came from. How little it would have taken for me to be on the other side of this. The monsters leave me cold, but the demigods… a well-aimed kick to the chest brings the boy down, his bow clatters to the ground, and for a moment I hesitate. If it weren’t for the Scythe embroidered on his clothes, what differences are left to separate us?

‘Run’, I order, and I’m sure my face looks far more terrifying with the helmet than usual. ‘Get out. You don’t belong here.’

I pay him no mind. He can barely be old enough for this, thirteen, maybe fourteen. Just as old as me. Neither of us should be doing this, and yet, I feel the same righteous anger as he does, the anger of one who has been cast aside, left behind, never recognised nor cared about.

He’s right, I think, slashing my way through hordes of vaguely human-shaped creatures with too many teeth and claws. He’s right, all of them are.

There’s only two reasons I’m not like them, why I haven’t pledged my loyalty to the scythe as they have.

My faithfulness is to Percy Jackson, always, and I do my best to ignore the pain this name makes me feel, do my best not to wish I could hate him, defy him, just once. I have made my decision, but even so, knowing how just their cause is makes it hard to see our enemies as such.

I stick to the monsters. They, at least, I have no trouble mowing down, no issues to settle with my conscience. They will reform anyway, at some point. For now, my sword keeps them trapped, locks away their essence as their substance turns into dirt and ashes.

But it will be over soon enough. Luke Castellan is dead and he has taken Kronos with him, and anyone with just an ounce of Hades blood in their veins can feel it.

Ω

The fighting is over, the dead are buried, the survivors have fled. Above the ground, the campers are doing their best to rebuild what has been destroyed, but I have a more urgent matter to attend.

What drives me to observe Luke’s trial? I don’t know. Maybe it’s closure, maybe it’s curiosity, who can tell? The underworld is overrun with newcomers, and Charon and the judges are working overtime.

It’s a long matter. I can’t see through the masks, but I quickly reach out with my senses to ensure Minos isn’t among the judges. They argue a lot, and I only listen somewhat absent-mindedly, more focused on Luke. The mix of hope and despair on his face is surprising, and I have to remind myself that the person I knew him as isn’t his true self.

‘Fields of Punishment’, one of the judges insists.

‘Elysium’, the other protests.

They confer again. I understand the words ‘traitor’ and ‘hero’, but not much else. I’m not even sure if they have to use actual speech. They’re ghosts, after all, more or less.

Eventually they all turn around to face Luke again. The nervousness is clearly written in his face.

‘Good, and bad’, one of them announces.

‘Hard to decide’, the second adds.

‘Asphodel’, the third one adds.

‘I… I had hoped for rebirth.’

Silence falls and I curiously look at Luke, then the judges, then Luke again. Rebirth. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

‘No rebirth’, all three say at the same time. ‘So much potential for harm’, one of them adds. ‘Rebirth can not be allowed.’

The furies come and take him away. I follow them, a little shaken. The hopelessness on his face is an all too familiar look, a feeling I know all too well. I conceal myself in the shadows, but even so, one of the furies spots me—they’re creatures of the underworld, after all—and motions for me to stay away.

It’s the last straw, really. I’m the Ghost King. The son of Hades. A war hero. Nobody tells _me_ to stay out of things. I step out of the darkness and onto the path.

‘What—di Angelo?’

It’s an unfamiliar feeling to hear my name from his face, the face I’ve come to know as Kronos’ face, his voice speaking of genuine surprise, not hatred, or disgust, or mockery.

‘This is a mistake, right? You’re from Hades, you can fix this?’

I almost don’t have the heart to disappoint him, but I don’t have to. His face falls when he sees my expression. One of the furies laughs, a cruel sound.

‘Please!’

I don’t think even Luke can remember the last time he pleaded with anyone. I’m not the socialising kind, quite the opposite, but after everything I’ve heard about him, from Annabeth, from Percy, from Chiron, he doesn’t seem the type for begging.

The furies pull him further down the path and I make a decision. It’s just not fair.

‘Stop.’

Surprisingly, they do stop. Alecto turns to me and bares her fangs.

‘Stay away’, she warns me. ‘This is not for you to interfere.’

With a flick of my hand, I have the shadows chuck her away. This is my father’s realm, and even his creatures are no match for me on my home turf.

It’s a little odd, being face to face with him. Even with my fourteen-or-so years, albeit bearing the weight of a much older soul, I just reach up to his chin.

‘I’ve seen Asphodel’, he forces out. ‘The people. Faceless traces of what they used to be, no name, no past, nothing. They all forget.’

I nod. He’s not wrong. The fields make people lose themself. Asphodel is a fate I can’t spare him, but there’s one thing I can do. I bite my lip as I try to channel my powers. My father _is_ the ruler of this place, after all, and when the King is absent… well, then the prince can step in and make decisions, right?

The familiar feeling of my insides turning cold runs through me and a few small rocks crack open as the shadows draw closer, come alive of their own, surround us, absorb the light.

When it dissolves, what is left is a faint purple glow in the air and a mix of fascination and horror written over Luke’s face.

‘Memories’, I croak out (did I mention how draining it is to mess with underworld powers?) as the darkness leaves my body. ‘You can keep yours.’

It’s all I can do for him, to preserve his self and past and keep him from becoming a mindless creature like the rest of Asphodel. They don’t remember what they lost, but they know that they lost it and forever wander through the fields hoping to find answers to the questions they forget. It’s pitiful.

His ‘thank you’ is hoarse and I step aside and allow the furies to take him away. Alecto shoots me a hateful stare, and I’m sure I’ll have to pay for this little provocation, at some point. It doesn’t matter, for now.

Ω

I don’t know why I decide to visit him. Really. I write it off as convenient—I’m just on my way back after disciplining some unruly spirits, cleaning up, a few months after the war, and Asphodel is just a tiny detour anyway. Can’t hurt to check up on him, see if the furies left him alone, or if my father decided to amend my meddling.

Asphodel, first and foremost, is boring. Its defining feature is the absence of any defining features. Fields, as far as you can see, a tree here and there, a rock, a hill. It’s like taking a landscape and removing all the elements until the only thing that’s left is… land. It’s pleasantly warm, not too hot nor too cold, and the only living thing inside are the people.

Well, not-living. That’s kind of the point.

So check up on him I do. It takes a while to find him, among all the masses of spirits, but eventually I locate him. I don’t know what I expect as I rise out of a shadow in front of him—a warm welcome? Probably not. But I sure didn’t expect fear, an odd kind of nervousness, like I’m a threat.

‘Relax’, I assure him, raising my hands chest-high to show that I’m unarmed (my sword hanging by my side kind of defeats the purpose, but it’s about the gesture). ‘It’s just me.’

Probably not the most helpful thing to say to someone you spent the better part of the last few years fighting, but who cares. I’m Nico di Angelo. I’m a loner, a weirdo, and occasional necromancer. I’m known for many things, but diplomacy isn’t one of them.

Either way, it works, and Luke relaxes, the tension leaving his shoulders, the hands, subconsciously clenched into fists, now awkwardly hanging by his side.

‘Old habits’, he explains, and his apologetic smile is really… something. I heard about how charismatic he supposedly is, of course I have, during the war, we lost around a dozen or so campers to his smile and his persuasion skills, but this smile he smiles at me here and now? It’s a smile you want to believe, a smile you trust with your banking password.

He mistakes my staring for something else, and suddenly the suspicion is back in his features.

‘You haven’t come to take me away, have you?’

His posture changes, a subtle shift towards a slightly more aggressive stance, and I snort at the idea that he could fist-fight me, a son of Hades, in my own realm. But that’s not why I’m here.

‘Don’t worry’, I promise him. ‘I’m not. Just… I don’t know, dropping by to see how you’re doing.’

He frowns. ‘You do courtesy visits?’

I feel my face heat up as I realise how ridiculous I must sound.

‘I was, uh, in the area’, I explain. It’s a lame explanation, even thought it’s true. ‘Just, uh, wanted to make sure you were alright.’

‘Ah’, he smiles again. ‘That’s very nice of you.’

I guess it is. My face is redder than a stop light, but fortunately, he doesn’t acknowledge it, if he did I would have to disappear into the ground, quite literally.

‘So, uh, how are you?’ I stutter, mostly angry at me for getting myself into this situation.

You see, that’s why I don’t do people. It gets awkward. People don’t understand me. I don’t understand them. I don’t even want to, and that sentiment is mutual. And it leads to situations like this one, so here I am, nervously stammering around like a lovesick middle-schooler, although for once in front of someone who isn’t Percy.

Luke shrugs. ‘It’s boring. Sometimes someone tries to talk to me, but what do you talk about with these people? This’, he gestures at the surroundings in a vaguely circular motion, ‘is hardly exciting.’

Another shrug.

‘It could’ve been worse. I’ll live.’

We both have to smile at the irony. Live is the one thing he won’t do. But it’s not uncommon for the recently deceased to realise just how many phrases are pointless down here. Trust me, I would know. Have you ever heard a dead soul complain that their lack of a pulse makes them anxious? Cause I have.

‘That’s good to hear’, I reply. It may be boring and uneventful, but it’s better than the Fields of Punishment. Always look at the bright side, right?

‘But enough about me’, he says. ‘What’s new, ahem, among the living? I’m bored to death…’

Ω

I don’t _decide_ to make it a habit. It just… happens. Really. Every now and then, dad calls me in to do chores—it’s always ‘catch this rogue spirit’, ‘tame that violent soul’, ‘someone is trying to leave the Fields of Punishment, go and remind them who’s in charge’—and after a hard day’s work of playing policeman for the undead, there’s worse things than some small talk with an old nemesis.

Wait, that sounded better in my head. But you get the point.

And Luke seems to appreciate it. After all, I guess he’s pretty lonely down there, and he always happily listens to any news from camp. I haven’t told anyone about his fate—right after the battle wasn’t exactly the right time, and at some point, it got to the ‘if I tell them now, it’s awkward phase’—but he soaks up my word like a sponge.

It’s kind of cute, really. In a weird, probably kind of messed-up way, but it’s cute nevertheless.

Time passes by. Percy and Annabeth have left for college, the rest of us are growing up. One and a half years after the whole Gaia debacle, dad gifts me a zombie for my 16th birthday, and when I tell Luke a few weeks later, he honest to Zeus cracks up and giggles.

‘A zombie? A real, proper zombie?’

I don’t even think it’s that funny, more of a sad display of my father’s lacking parenting skills, but Luke’s laughter is contagious, and my lips twitch upwards a little.

‘Yeah, a real zombie. Name’s Jules-Albert. He’s my chauffeur.’

‘A chauffeur’, he deadpans. ‘A demigod with a zombie chauffeur.’

I shrug. ‘Apparently, dad thinks I’m lonely. Something about “going out” and “meeting friends” and “being out of touch with the 21st century”, as if _he_ has any idea about that.’

He grins. It’s a pained grin. Our parents are a touchy subject with most demigods, him in particular, and I am once again reminded that most of us haven’t even spoken to or seen our godly parent. For all the family spats, disagreements and being-turned-into-flowers incidents, I have a fairly good relationship with mine.

‘Plus’, I add to lighten the mood, ‘he likes burgers.’

Luke gives me a puzzled look. ‘Burgers?’

‘The dead love fast food’, I explain, and if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing I’ve said all day, then I don’t know. ‘People try to summon them with blood sacrifices all the times, but really, all you need is a shovel and a happy meal.’

Become a necromancer, they said. Wax and candles, they said. Nobody ever mentions that you spend more time in the drive-thru then you do raising actual dead people.

It’s neat tho. Don’t tell anyone, but I usually keep the toys.

I ask him how he’s doing. It’s more of a formality, really. Good manners and all that. The most exciting thing that can happen down here is that you run into someone famous, and most the time, they’re just the trace of a soul and barely remember their mortal life. And as if that isn’t weird enough, time works different down here. For me, it’s been three months since my last visit at Luke’s, for him, it could have been just a few weeks or so. Not exactly much to catch up on.

When I eventually say goodbye, I realise how odd this has to look to any outsider. Regular visits, losing my distaste for people around him, the occasional chit-chat turning into a trip down memory lane. The person who set out to set my world on fire is the closest thing I have to a friend.

Except Percy, maybe, depending on your definition of ‘friend’, but he doesn’t count anyway.

Ω

Three years. That’s how much of a break we get before the next war, and with little warning, all hell breaks loose. Pun not intended. All of a sudden, the Doors of Death are open and we got monsters left, right, and centre, escaping from Tartarus and roaming the Earth and it’s Really Not Cool. The realms are in uproar, the Fields of Punishment see daily riots as souls break their chains and plunge into the pit to reach the doors. It’s a mess.

On the bright side? I get a sister. I’m in Asphodel, trying to tame a bunch of vandalising zombies sowing unrest among the dead, when I bump into her. I’m ploughing through the masses of monsters, careful not to accidentally condemn any more-or-less innocent soul to a life in Tartarus, when I see her, and I know. Maybe it’s a Hades family kinda thing. I just know.

Here’s someone who remembers. Who sees this place for what it is. Like me. I can feel her watching me from afar and after I send the last monster into the pit, I make my way over to where she’s standing.

‘Hello.’

It’s so odd. A greeting. You don’t get that down here. Usually it’s all ‘can you help me remember’ and ‘can’t you give me one more chance’ and sometimes you run into the soul of a priest and get a lecture on what they see the underworld as, but this girl, she just sees straight through all the disguises, the Mist, the magic.

I reach out for a handshake.

‘I’m Nico di Angelo.’

She has the usual not-quite-solid feel of a dead soul, but I can tell it’s nothing like the rest of those who live in the fields. Her soul speaks clearly of her identity. She is my father’s daughter.

‘Hazel Levesque.’

‘You’re different. You remember. You’re… you’re like me.’

I know what you’re thinking. Smooth Nico, smooth. Lacking people skills, remember?

‘Come with me.’

The words slip out before I can stop them. How could I not? The doors are open. Nobody except my father has the power to stop me. I may have lost Bianca years ago, but here is another sister, a sister of mine. I have to.

‘Come… with you?’

I nod.

‘Let me bring you back.’

Of course, it isn’t as easy. The modern world is _terra incognita_ for her, a feeling I know all too well. But I make sure she’s safe and where she belongs, and that’s what matters. When the ambassador of Pluto shows up to bring you a new legionnaire, you don’t ask about the why and how, you say ‘thanks’ and ‘of course’ and ‘I hope all is well in the realm of Pluto, your excellency’.

I didn’t ask for the title, but thanks anyway, dad. Maybe next time you reveal the existence of a whole different camp of demigods to me, give me a little warning beforehand.

Guess I have a sister again. I kind of don’t have enough time to celebrate, though, because a few weeks later, Percy gets kidnapped and all of a sudden, I’m kind of busy turning heaven and hell upside turn trying to find him, because what else would I do? It’s always gonna be this way: Percy will do something, and I will jump, like the ridiculous lap dog that I am.

I do briefly stop by Luke, though. Can’t hurt to ask your local informant, live from the underworld, if he’s seen or heard anything. No trace of Percy, unfortunately.

I’m so busy freaking out over my teenage idol dropping off the face of the planet, I don’t see the weird look in Luke’s eyes when I mention that the Doors of Death are open. When eight months later, Percy resurfaces at Camp Jupiter, I have more urgent matters to think about than my regular visits to Luke Castellan.

Ω

I don’t think it’s sufficient to say that shit hits the fan. Not nearly strong enough. More like, a shipload of faeces bombards a wind turbine. Suddenly we’re at war, first the Titans, now the Giants, and seriously, do we ever get to just live in peace for a while or something like that? I’m really pissed, but to make things even worse, the gods have just decided to Not Talk to us, any I swear to my father’s throne, the next time, they can just fight their wars themselves.

Have you ever been stuck in a jar for ages? Had to live off pomegranate seeds? Been captured by giants and used as bait to lure your friends into a deadly trap? If your answer to each of this questions is ‘no’, please do consider yourself lucky, thank you and goodbye.

When I set out to find the doors, I didn’t exactly hope to end up in Tartarus. But of course I do, and the memories… I don’t talk about it, especially not to Jason or Percy, but that place still gives me nightmares. I know Percy suffers the same. It’s hell.

By the time they pull me out of that jar in Rome, I am but a shadow of myself. And then Percy falls into the pit and if I thought hell itself was bad enough, oh boy, was I wrong. Of course I carry on, what choice do I have? But by the time the fighting is over, I’m a wreck. When I close my eyes, I see the pit, taste the river, feel the pain.

I don’t get to dwell on it. There’s cleaning up to do, souls to catch, monsters to slay. The doors are secure, praise be, but there’s still a huge number of escaped beasts and despicable characters out there to catch. My father actually has the audacity to hand out _lists_ , and everyone who isn’t needed down there has to go out and play bounty hunter.

It’s a tiring and unsatisfying job, but at least it keeps me from thinking. Sisyphos, Tantalus, Tereus, I cross them off the list one by one as I drag them back under the ground, until one day, a name on the list of escaped souls makes me stop mid-thought.

Luke Castellan

It can’t be. But I don’t even have to visit Asphodel to know it’s true. He’s actually done it, and for a moment, I have to admire his courage, to take the fall, just to try and make a run for the world of the living.

Then my blood runs cold.

Tartarus.

To reach the doors, he would have to go through Tartarus.

He’s abso-fucken-lutely doomed, and I can’t describe the pain I feel at the thought. Of course, he can’t die, not when he’s already dead, but the things down there…

I never thought I would, voluntarily, visit that place again. When Percy fell, I was all but ready to jump after him, but now, as I stand on the edge, staring down into the abyss, all for the slight chance to find and return Luke Castellan, it shouldn’t be nearly the same, he doesn’t mean nearly as much to me, does he…

I push these thoughts aside.

I jump.

Ω

I will not talk about what happens down there. Tartarus is for the worst of the worst, and having been through it once is more than enough, let alone twice. That place, it kills, in a thousand ways, and just when you thought that was all the pain it could dish out, a thousand new ways. It’s barely five minutes before I regret ever coming back and I haven’t even started looking for him among the… _things_ that waste away in here. And it’s going to take time. I can’t afford sleep nor rest.

When I do find Luke, he’s barely conscious. Barely even recognisable. Even though he can’t die, it’s obvious the creatures of the pit have had their way with him, all beaten, bruised, and bloody. The wounds will fade, but the scars inside won’t.

I don’t bother asking for permission as I scoop him up, fending off enemies as good as I can while I carry him, fireman-style, until we’re undisturbed enough for me to regain the strength I need to take us back up. The shadows down here are different, more vicious, and I have to all but wrestle us from their grip as we materialise again.

I can’t stay with Luke for long, not with my father breathing down my neck all the time about getting the dead and not-so-dead back under control, but I stay as long as I can, at least until I see Luke opening his eyes again, still visibly ridden with terror, but the pain fades away some once he recognises where he is, and whom he is with.

I cut off his rambling, the mixture of gratitude and confusion, with a finger to his lips.

‘It’s ok’, I promise. ‘It’s ok. You’re safe.’

I have to go, can’t afford provoking my father’s wrath or that of his servants, if they see me slacking, so I send a prayer to Morpheus and Hypnos, wishing for some dreamless sleep for Luke, and reach into the shadows to disappear.

It’s not until later that evening, after crossing another few hundred souls and creatures off my list, that I break down on my bed as the memories catch up with me, finally. It’s impossible to tell how long I was down there—shorter, certainly, than the last time, stronger now, and more prepared—but either way, as soon as my eyes fall shut, the nightmares begin again.

α

I don’t know how it happens. I’m in a graveyard in Boston, in the middle of trying to talk a ghoul out of haunting the local clergyman, when I hear it. Or rather, feel it. It’s hard to describe, but it feels like someone is calling for me. Reaching out to me. Which, in theory, shouldn’t be possible. Of course, sometimes, I can feel if a soul is in distress, or hurt, but it only happens with people I am very close with. Hazel. Jason. Percy, used to, at least.

The feeling is strong, and I give in and allow the void to take me away, through the darkness, to wherever it is I’m going. I guess I shouldn’t be as surprised when, once again, I wind up in the underworld. Asphodel still looks the same, even though here and there, traces from the war remain—craters and burn marks, where rogue monsters vandalised the fields, or where souls tried to escape, hoping for a second life.

‘Who—Nico?’

Luke. Of course. I turn around to meet him face-to-face.

He’s pale. That’s the first thing I notice. There’s bags under his eyes, and even though the deceased neither eat nor digest, he’s lost weight. There’s a certain shakiness in his movements.

He looks like shit is what I’m saying.

‘Luke’, I greet. He weakly nods.

Maybe I kind of talk before thinking. Maybe I’m kind of blunt. Maybe. Look, I didn’t mean to, but my next words are ‘what the fuck happened to you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yeah, sure.’

I stare at him. He stares back. I would love to claim that I can easily stare him down, but the truth is, I break eye contact fairly soon. I look away, embarrassed.

‘It’s the nightmares.’

I frown. ‘You’re not supposed to need sleep. I mean, no offence, but you’re dead.’

Luke shrugs. ‘Flashbacks, then. Blackouts. Whatever you wanna call it. About…’ he hesitates.

‘Tartarus’, I finish the sentence for him, and he flinches.

‘Yeah.’

We both stare at the ground, too awkward to say anything. I swallow hard. Of course, I’m not surprised, but still… it hurts to hear it from him, that he is plagued by the same horros as I. As much as I wish I could, I can’t really help him. This is something all of us have to face alone.

‘Can I…’ I look up again to see Luke still avoiding my eyes, shuffling his feet, ‘can I, uh…’

I’ve known him for about four years by now. Not counting the war. But this is the first time, or maybe the first time since his sentencing, that I see him this visibly struggling to find the right words.

‘Can you what?’ I ask. ‘Look, if it’s weird or something, I promise I won’t laugh.’

He clears his throat. ‘Uhm. A hug. I mean, can I… get a hug? From you. Ehm.’

Very much not what I expected.

He clearly misunderstands my surprise and hurries to assure that ‘never mind it’s okay you don’t have to’.

‘No, it’s ok’, I interrupt him.

I get it. Really. You go try making do for years without a proper hug, then you’d be a little desperate, too. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.

It might just be the most absurd situation when I spread my arms and mumble ‘c’mere’, and slowly, like he can’t believe this is happening, Luke lets me pull him into my arms. Of course, it’s not perfect—no breathing, no pulse, no temperature, I am, by all means, hugging a dead person. It doesn’t matter. I wrap my arms around him and I’m fairly certain if dead souls could cry, he would be crying right now.

‘I see it’, he confesses, somewhere near my ear. ‘Every time I close my eyes, I see that… that place.’

I squeeze him a little tighter. I know. By Hades, I know.

‘I wanted to live’, his words are barely a whisper now. ‘Just live again.’

It’s the one thing he can’t have and we both know it.

α

I am proud to announce that I spend an entire week of more-or-less sleepless nights mulling over the matter before I make a ridiculous and immature decision. Or rather, I don’t _contemplate_ it as much as I try to discourage myself from going through with my plan, and of course I fail.

The end of the week sees me melting into the darkness and reappearing on the way leading towards my father’s palace. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. When I storm into the throne room, the indignated look on Hades’ face makes me briefly question my sanity, but it’s too late to turn around now.

‘I don’t remember requesting your assistance with anything’, my father begins, and he doesn’t even make an effort to conceal his displeasure. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

Next to him, Persephone scrutinises me, although I can’t help but note that her usual distaste for me, her husband’s bastard son, has as of lately been less and less notable. Maybe she’s warming up to me, after all. Only took two almost-catastrophes and me saving the world several times over.

‘Luke Castellan.’

My words echo from the walls.

‘What about him?’ Hades growls.

‘You will review his case.’

The temperature drops several degrees and for once, even I can feel the cold.

‘No son of mine is going to order me around!’

‘You. Will. Review. His. Case.’

Hades grabs a black tablet out of the air and swipes through the contents on the screen.

‘Traitor, started a war, hm hm hm… Titans, revolution, death, unusually light sentencing, Fields of Asphodel.’

He vanishes the device again. ‘There. Case reviewed. Of course, if you want me to punish him some more…’

The unspoken threat hangs in the air, but for once, I am not going to back down.

‘I won two wars for you’, I force out. ‘I saved your world, two camps, your sword, your daughter and whatnot.’

‘Nico’, Hades tries to interrupt, but I’m not done yet.

‘Without me, you would still be rotting away down here, refusing to fight. Without me, this place would have more loopholes than you can plug. I found your sword, I closed your doors, I brought back order to this place while you’, deep breath, Nico, ‘were busy recovering from trying to splice your personalities back together. _I gave you back your realm_. Don’t forget _how much_ you owe to me, _father_.’

I probably shouldn’t say it, but before I can stop myself. I add, ‘we all know what happens when your children get angry, isn’t that right?’

Before I have time to contemplate whether I can actually get away with threatening him in his own throne room, Persephone leans over and whispers something into Hades’ ear. Judging by the way his scowl deepens, he probably doesn’t like it. I swallow and try not to think of how concerning it is that Luke’s smile, his pain, his unspoken pleas can make me do something this irrational. I kind of can’t afford to freak out right now.

‘Well, well, well’, my father interrupts my brooding, in a bored faux-innocence voice, although I can sense the barely contained anger underneath. ‘It would seem that during our efforts to reinstate order among the dead, the soul of one Luke Castellan could not be tracked down and tragically escaped towards the world of the living. I’m afraid we have no capacities to find him again, so for now, we will have to accept that he has gotten away.’

I narrow my eyes. ‘Where’s the catch?’

Hades’ lips tighten. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.’

‘You have an hour to get him out of my sight, or by Myself, I _will_ make sure he will find himself in the Fields of Punishment. Now LEAVE!’

At this point, I’m trying hard to suppress my shaking, and I don’t need to be told twice. His words keep echoing in my head, and I can only hope that he won’t at some point decide to smite me for this, but either way, the clock is ticking.

α

Finding Luke isn’t hard. By now, I can tell his soul among a thousand others, if need be. He barely looks up as I step out of a shadow, long used to my random appearances.

‘Come with me’, I pant, my breath short from the second shadow-travel in short succession. ‘Now.’

Yeah, I know, not the best phrasing. In my defence, I’m kind of stressed out.

‘I—what?’ The confusion is evident on Luke’s face and did I ever mention that I hate how adorable he looks when he’s confused? Ok, bad timing.

His hand feels cold as I take it between mine. I give it a gentle squeeze. Even in death, the calluses, result of many years of swordsmanship, haven’t faded.

‘Do you trust me?’

It’s a big question to ask and I’m not sure if I want to know the answer. People usually don’t trust me, and even now, I’m worried that I’ll always be a liability for him, always remain a former enemy.

‘Yes.’ His voice is hoarse, and I swear I can feel a load the size of Sisyphos’ boulder drop off my back. ‘I… I trust you.’

‘Thank you.’

We have to hurry. I don’t even bother trying to shadow-travel us out—if it was that easy, I wouldn’t need to fret. No, we’re going to have to make do by walking out.

I walk ahead, and thank the Gods, Luke follows without asking questions I don’t have the time to answer. I pretend not to see his confused look when I simply bend the shadows out of the way as we leave the Fields of Asphodel and ascent towards the palace. Briefly before reaching it, I take a turn and lead him towards the rocks that form the walls and ceiling.

Realisation begins to dawn on Luke’s face when the stone parts to reveal an exit. I thank whomever is responsible that Orpheus’ Door doesn’t require music to get out, only to get in. Luke seems to consider asking a question, but he changes his minds and follows as I begin to hurry upwards through the tunnel.

I don’t actually know if I have to, but either way, I force myself to stare straight ahead and resist the urge to look behind me. Better be safe than sorry, after all. Poor Orpheus didn’t, and you look what happened to him. At some point, I slow down and hesitantly reach behind me, and you can’t imagine the relief I feel when Luke’s hand finds mine and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

We’re doing this. Together.

At last, the slope evens out, and after a final turn, the wall breaks open and releases us into the air of a New York morning. I walk a few more metres and finally allow myself to look back.

Luke stares. At everything. The trees, the grass, the skyscrapers, like he’s never seen anything like it. And who can blame him? He hasn’t seen anything but wheat fields and dead souls in ages.

He looks like he’s about to say something when suddenly he stumbles. Fear spreads over his face, shock, as he struggles to support himself against the rocks. I rush to his side, he chokes on whatever he is about to say, coughs, and then—

—wheezes and, finally, manages to take a deep breath. The first breath of his new life, in a way. I feel around his wrist and feel his pulse slowly picking up, stabilising. We’re still resting against the stone, Luke slumped over me, but it doesn’t matter, not right now. He’s breathing, his heart is beating, that’s what matters.

His head drops onto my shoulder, closer to my ear.

‘Explanation’, he pants. ‘Did we just break out of the fucking underworld?’

Ah. Right. How do you tell someone that you bullied the ruler of hell into giving them a second life?

‘Uh’, I shuffle my feet, ‘I kinda talked to my father.’

Not a lie. We did talk.

Luke frowns. ‘What’s this, then? A weekend off?’ He scoffs and pushes himself off the wall. ‘A little vacation, courtesy of Hades? Two days New York all-inclusive and back to being dead, is that it? Is that your idea of a joke?’

For a moment, I can see the old Luke. The anger, the spite, it’s all there. I guess I’m not very good at hiding it, because when he catches sight of my expression, he cools down, now more embarrassed about his outburst than angry. I clear my throat.

‘I, eh, might have…’

Honestly, right here and now, I would rather take on a horde of beasts head-on than admit that I risked slow and painful death to get him here. No people skills, remember?

‘Mighthavethreatenedmydadintolettingyougo’, I tell nobody in particular. There’s an oddly shaped stick on the ground that I can pretend to stare at in order to avoid meeting Luke’s face.

‘Come again?’

Oh well fuck it, I think and straighten my posture before saying it again.

‘I… kind of threatened my father. And demanded he let you go. I guess. More or less.’

‘You… what… what?’

I shrug. Really, what am I supposed to say? It sounds dumber when I say it out loud than I thought, and somehow, I’m still surprised nobody has turned me into ground demigod beef yet, but I’m not exactly complaining.

‘You… _why?_ ’

‘Uh… because?’

I finally look up. There’s pain and disbelief written all over his face, and suddenly, my throat feels tight. It’s not like I ever stopped in my odd quest to ponder whether he wants this.

‘Because it’s the right thing’, I add, voice now hoarse. ‘You deserve better.’

I don’t know what I expected. Strong words, demands to take him back, begrudging acceptance. I get none of these. Instead, I find myself with a whole arm full of Luke and even though I stiffen at first—yeah don’t do that, don’t just hug me like that—it’s not unwelcome and once I get over my surprise, I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer into this embrace.

‘You idiot’, is whispered somewhere near my neck. ‘You fucking idiot.’

Something wet runs into the collar of my shirt and when we pull apart again, arms still touching, I see that Luke is actually crying. Real, proper tears-running-down-his-face crying.

‘Thank you’, he chokes out.

My hands still meet behind his lower back, his have moved upwards and are somewhere near my shoulders, we’re basically still having half a hug, and it feels like my brain is screaming for me to notice something, but I can’t figure out wha—

‘Can I kiss you?’

Oh.

_Oh._

_OH._

I would love to say that a lot of things fall into place. I would love to say that everything that has happened so far suddenly makes sense, that I have some grande realisation, a sexual awakening, or maybe something about destiny.

What actually happens is that my jaw drops and my mouth, without consulting my brain first, says something like ‘wait oh what uh yes?’

And then he leans in and without thinking I meet him halfway and oh ye gods, I think my brain just broke.

I have no clue what I’m doing, really, but who cares, because I don’t, and Luke doesn’t either. It’s weird and messy and pretty wet because at least one of us is crying, or maybe both of us are, and it’s far from perfect but so fucking right and at some point my thinking kicks in again and catches up on what I’m doing and _holy fuck what am I doing?_

I can feels the panic rising inside me as the realisation sets in that _I am kissing a guy_ , even worse, _not just any guy_ and all that _in plain sight ohgodsohfuckohfuck_. I stiffen and all but push Luke away, and his hurt and confusion is all too evident.

‘Whoa, what—are you alright?’

I guess I’m quite the pathetic display right now. I might be crying, I’m not sure. You would be, too, if your well-kept secret was uncovered because you just had to go and make out with a guy who’s probably totally out of your league anyway.

‘Can I’, he vaguely gestures towards me, ‘like, do you need a hug or talk or something, or…?’ He hesitates. ‘Is it okay if I touch you?’

Wordlessly, I nod. My face is burning up as I try very hard to Not Freak Out™. He slowly rests a hand on my arm, I manage to ever so slightly lean into his touch, and he pulls me into his embrace again. I bury my head against his shoulder and apparently I _am_ crying. Well fuck.

‘I’m sorry kiddo’, he murmurs. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed.’

I’m not sure what he’s sorry for. Also, don’t call me kiddo or I _will_ turn your bones inside out. I’m nineteen, alright? Fear me.

‘It’s just’, he coughs, ‘I guess it’s kinda weird but I really like you, y’know? Like-like you.’

Whoa.

Hold on.

Full stop.

Come again, please.

Okay, those ground-breaking, mind-blowing realisations I didn’t have earlier? I think I’m having them now.

‘Say something?’

There’s a nervous undertone to Luke’s voice, and I’m still marvelling at the fact that he can just _say things like that without melting down how does he do that_ and now would probably be the time to, indeed, say something but excuse me I’m trying to calm down and deal with the fact that maybe, just maybe, I might be a tiny bit into him.

Okay, maybe a little more.

Well.

Actually.

If I’m looking at the time we’ve known each other.

Oh fuck.

‘Sorry’, he begins to untangle himself from my arms, ‘I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable—’

I mumble a ‘hmpf’ into his chest and pull him back in. At some point the tears stop and my breathing slows down and the realisation that he isn’t freaked out by me and I don’t have to be freaked out either makes its way into my brain.

‘It’s getting dark’, Luke eventually notes.

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you…’ he hesitates. ‘Do you want to talk? About’, he vaguely gestures at the two of us, ‘earlier?’

Ah. Yes. I think of what I could say, should say, and I’m convinced my heart is trying to kill me, the way it picks up the pace as if I was running a marathon.

‘Eh. I. Uh. I mean, kinda, I’m, same?’

Well fuck that. Apparently, I can’t talk anymore.

‘Sorry. I mean…’ _oh fuck I’m really gonna say_ _it, fuck_ ‘I maybe kinda’, my hands are senselessly playing with the chain that hangs off my belt, ‘I maybe kinda… kinda like you too? I think?’

Guess I can’t take it back now. Here goes nothing.

‘Oh.’

 _Please be more elaborate_ , I can’t help but think. You know, I’m sort of really nervous right now, _is that a good oh or a bad oh?_

‘Ok, but why… I mean, earlier, you didn’t seem to…?’

Oh, yeah. Can’t blame him for thinking I didn’t like it.

‘I, uh’, how do you tell the guy you’re probably into that he took your first kiss, ‘I’ve never… never kissed anyone.’

‘Whoa, really?’ Guilt is painted all over his face. ‘Fuck, you should’ve said—I should’ve asked, I’m sorry—’

I grab his hand, and that seems to be enough to interrupt his rambling. _By Hades, I’m not some kid, you overbearing mother hen._ I swallow.

‘Can’, I shuffle my feet, how hard can it be to say it? ‘Can we… can we try that again? Without… without the panic and crying and all?’

A smile spreads across his face, there’s relief, and even though I’m incredibly awkward, my hands somehow find his face and then his lips find mine and oh fuck, I think I could do that more often.

α

Of course there is a catch. We find that out when we leave the park and run into a bunch of monsters, because Luke runs straight into a ten foot tall beast and _apologises_ and somehow manages not to see its true form. Of course, I slice the thing to bits, and when Luke backs off and asks me why I just beat up a charming old lady and where I got the baseball bat from, it dawns on me.

He’s lost his powers. He can’t see through the Mist anymore. Why, thank you, dad.

Luke takes the news in stride, but I can see the way he bites back on his disappointment. No Camp Half-Blood for him. This is our world, but it’s not his anymore.

Telling the rest of us is surprisingly awkward. I mean, how often do you just casually call up your friends and mention you revived their former friend turned arch enemy turned friend again? I think Percy has a heart attack right there and then and Annabeth threatens to punch me if I’m kidding.

I’m not.

Two weeks later, Percy and her finally get to visit, and her jaw drops the first time Luke hesitantly steps into the room. There’s embraces and tearful apologies and it’s basically a huge, crying group hug. It’s Percy’s turn with jaw dropping when he stumbles upon Luke and me making out later and I can all but hear the _not your type_ comment he forces himself not to say.

I still freeze a little in shock because _I’m kissing a guy holy fuck_ _and people can see it what am I doing??_ but fortunately, he doesn’t say anything and just flushes bright red and hurries away. Sorry, Perce. Turns out my type is blonde, scarred, with a soft spot for starting wars.

‘That was awkward’, Luke mumbles against my lips.

‘Mmhmhm.’

‘You know, I’ve been meaning to ask’, he coughs, ‘I mean, we said take it slow, but… uh.’

I have a vague idea where’s he’s going with this, and apparently, my body can’t decide between _ah yes please_ and _what the everloving fuck are you doing_ because I’m somehow both excited and anxious.

‘Boyfriends?’ he finally asks.

I lean up to press a kiss to his lips.

‘Boyfriends.’

I may be a gay mess and I may panic every now and then because ten years of being in the closet are hard to unlearn. But I gotta say it:

Kissing Luke Castellan is addictive and it’s an addiction I don’t plan on giving up any time soon. No way.

**Author's Note:**

> So, a while back, I noticed how the Nico x Luke tag is basically pretty empty, save for a bunch of porn. And I figured, gotta fix that! At first, I thought "uh, will I manage to get more than 2k words done?" and then suddenly I was 4k words in and nowhere near done with the plot, so I guess I needn't have worried.
> 
> As you probably noticed, I made some changes to the timeline. First of all, Nico is 2 years older, making him 14 during the events of The Last Olympian. Second, Rick's "a millennia-old prophecy just came true so let's have the next once-in-a-lifetime prophecy happen half a year later" always bugged me, so I added three years of peace and prosperity and whatnot between the Titan War and the Giant War. That not only makes for a more believable timeline, but also results in Nico being 18, going on 19, after The Blood Of Olympus, and with 22 year old Luke in the picture, that makes for a much smaller gap in age.


End file.
